Paperwork
by Thalius
Summary: Fred can't sleep, Roland loves to spy, and Lasky just wants a peaceful breakfast with Sarah.


**AN:** I apparently like to prompt myself on tumblr. I'm veta-lopis for those interested parties.

* * *

He awoke suddenly, a sigh on his lips and an uneasy pressure in his chest, but any attempt to remember his dream only dissolved it further. Fred's hands scrunched up the edges of his sheets, grasping for… something. He wasn't sure what. The pressure in his chest constricted further.

He unhooked one of his hands from the bedsheets and rubbed it over his face. He'd had these dreams before over the years, and he always woke up with a dull, uncertain ache pressing up from his diaphragm, and he somehow doubted it was gas. He didn't like them; they left him feeling out of sorts, and his skin tingled with a heightened sensitivity that made it difficult to fall back asleep.

He checked the time. 0318 hours. Blue Team's quarters were black and silent, and he took care to measure his breathing, not wanting to wake anyone else. He allowed himself a small sigh, though. Perhaps he wasn't entirely unsure of what the feeling was. He could never remember the dreams, but there was always someone who surfaced in his mind when he woke—Lopis. More specifically, the memory of the smooth warmth of her small palm wrapped in his far larger, far rougher hand; the tight pressure of her arms around his torso, her cheek pressed to his collarbone. She'd been gentle and sure in her movements, even if she'd retreated away from him quickly, blushing as she fled through the door of the medical bay. It had lasted only a moment, and he'd been so blindsided by the contact he'd barely gotten the chance to react before it was over. _Stupid_. And now it seemed to be haunting him. That had been the last time he'd seen her, and that had been years ago. The tingle across his flesh wasn't something he could remedy, nor was the hollow pressure in his breast.

He glanced quickly over at the adjacent bunk. Kelly's back was to him, and he counted the seconds between her breathing to confirm she was indeed asleep, then did the same for Linda and John. It was late into the night, and they were all enjoying a well-deserved rest—rest that _he_ should damn well be getting. There was no room for exhaustion now that Chief was leading Blue Team.

He clenched his jaw and unlaced his other hand from the sheets. The muscles in his arms twitched ever so softly, and his skin flared with goosebumps, though he wasn't cold. It was as familiar as it was confusing, and the sensation was accompanied with a vague ache knowing that he wouldn't have the opportunity to return the Inspector's gesture in the foreseeable future.

His fingers slid tentatively up under his off-duty shirt, and he placed his palm just below his collarbone, where she'd pressed her face into him. It was a poor substitute; the callouses on his palms were rough, and his skin was cool from the room's air. Most of all, there was no pleasant jolt from the contact, either—not when it was his own hand. The touch was about as far as he could get from Lopis's cheek. Pulling his hand away and fitting it into his other one proved much the same. Apparently he couldn't act as much of a stand-in for the Inspector. His mouth twitched into a rueful smile.

"Fred." A whisper from the other side of the cabin. "What are you doing?"

Kelly. He checked himself to keep from flinching, and quickly unlaced his hands to slide them back under the sheets. He looked over to her bunk, and saw that she had flipped around to face him.

"Couldn't sleep," he whispered back.

She frowned. "So you're shaking your own hand?"

He felt heat rise to his face. "Joints just ache," he lied quickly.

He couldn't tell if she bought his fib or not. All she did was shrug and push the hair away from her face. "Go back to sleep. It's too quiet without you snoring. Woke me up."

Fred smiled. "Don't think I can. Gonna take a walk, see if that helps."

"Okay," she said, yawning. She was usually quick to offer to go with him, or anyone on Blue Team that couldn't sleep, but all she did now was roll over and shuffle deeper into the covers. They were all tired, and he _really_ should be following her lead.

Instead he sat up, shoved into his boots, grabbed a laptop from the desk, and slipped out of Blue Team's quarters before he woke anyone else up.

* * *

He thought first to go to the Spartan mess, but quickly changed tracks and headed for the officer's mess instead. They had better coffee, and it was usually quieter up there. There were always Spartans about on S-Deck, and he wasn't in the mood for anyone's company at the moment. He didn't like using his rank to push into a mess hall that clearly wasn't built for him, but if he wasn't going back to sleep, he needed the caffeine for whatever new engagement John would be sending them on tomorrow.

To his relief, the officer's hall was empty when he arrived. It was deep into the night shift and everyone was off doing their duties until they turned it over to the day crew; just another reminder of his poor decision to walk around in the middle of the night instead of staying back in Blue Team's quarters to catch up on some sleep.

But he couldn't. The texture of his sheets and the whirring cycle of air from the vents had been enough to overwhelm him; and in the face of so much stimuli, his muscles still twitched and his chest still ached. It wasn't a longing he could get rid of, so he resolved to shove it away and distract himself with something else.

He set the laptop down on a table in the corner and went through the motions of setting up a small pot of coffee to brew in the kitchenette that opened up into the mess. He'd leave the industrial coffee vats in the cook's kitchen alone; he wasn't quite tired enough to need that much caffeine yet. Palmer had even been kind enough to show him where the fresh packets of ground coffee she and Lasky kept hidden, and he decided to indulge and use one.

When enough of it had percolated to make a cup, Fred walked the coffee back to the table with the laptop, warming his hands around the mug. He took a sip and sighed in contentment at the taste. All the food and drink in the Spartan mess was tailored to deliver maximal nutrition—even a luxury like coffee, and he didn't care for protein much in his coffee. A little bit of sugar would do just fine.

He flicked open the laptop as he sipped at the steaming drink, expanding a window to a list of contacts. He didn't have Lopis's contact information directly—it was too much of a potential security breach—but she had given him a dummy account in case Blue Team wanted to check up on the Gammas in an unofficial way. That wasn't what he was intending to use it for now, though, and it made him pause. Maybe this was a bad idea. She had assured him that he could contact her whenever he liked, only cautioning that she wouldn't be able to respond right away. He wasn't even entirely sure what he'd say to her. Certainly not the truth.

He scratched at the stubble along his chin and blew out a hard breath. _Lopis,_ he began typing, then backspaced. _Inspector, I hope this message finds you w—_ no, that wouldn't do. Backspace again.

 _I trust all of you are doing—_

 _Not sure when you'll have a chance to r—_

 _I don't know how to st—_

 _God dammit god dammit god d—_

Fred closed his eyes and took measured breaths. It was only a check-in message to see how she and the Ferrets were doing. He _was_ worried about them, anyway. If she replied back with good news, he would be thrilled. If she _didn't_ —well, he'd burn that bridge when they came to it. _If_ they came to it. He opened his eyes and began to type again. There was no guarantee the message would be completely secure, so he kept it as vague as possible.

 _Inspector,_

 _It's been awhile since we last spoke, but I hope you're all doing well. BT is as busy as ever and still going strong. Roster is still a little too small for my liking, though._

He frowned, watching the cursor blink as his fingers stilled on the keyboard. That couldn't be the whole message. It had been almost four years since they'd last seen each other; surely he had something more substantial to say. But he couldn't very well discuss classified information—which included Blue Team's current deployment and John's reinstatement as Blue Leader—and he knew virtually nothing about Lopis's personal life other than her past detective work on Gao, and bringing up her home planet that he'd helped nuke seemed like a bad idea. He had no anchor point to begin any banter with her; all of their past conversations had been about missions and intel that he was told very explicitly he was not allowed to discuss further, and he couldn't even ask about the Gammas directly, the only thing they had in common that wasn't strictly related to work. It was so much easier when she was physically present, talking to him like he was a regular person.

"Secret letters written under the cover of night," a voice said to his right. Fred's palm slammed down on the lid of laptop, clicking it shut, and he levelled a glare in the direction of the voice. The ship's AI, Roland, was projecting himself onto the table beside the laptop, grinning widely. "How scandalous."

"Excuse me?" he hissed, face reddening.

"Not a lot of people write letters to friends at 0328 in the morning." Roland kicked out his left foot, resting the holographic heel on the table beside Fred's coffee mug. "Just seems a little strange to me."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Now he _really_ regretted getting out of bed.

"And for that matter," he continued, resting his mustard-yellow arm on the lip of the mug. "I've never seen a Spartan-II send _anyone_ a message that wasn't a mission debrief or an official report. Huh, Inspector Lopis—" Roland flicked his hand and a large _[REDACTED]_ symbol in red appeared above him. "Must be real important. You're friends with an ONI agent, by the way? Never would have guessed. I thought Spartans weren't fond of ONI. Not that a lot of people are."

He heaved a sighed and passed a hand over his face. "Why do AIs think it's okay to read messages that aren't meant for them?"

Roland's face scrunched up in indignation below his bombardier hat. "My job is to monitor _Infinity_ and all of her functions, and make sure she's safe from threats, both external and internal."

"I'm not threatening anything."

"How would I know that unless I checked in?" Roland swiped away the blinking _[REDACTED]_ symbol and shook his head. "And you seemed to be typing away rather aggressively. I had to make sure you weren't putting us all at risk."

"Go away." Fred took a long pull from his coffee, not caring that it scalded his tongue.

"Need someone to bounce ideas off of?"

"Absolutely not."

"You probably don't have a lot of experience writing personal messages," Roland continued, ignoring him. "So I could proof-read, if you like. I help the Captain edit his reports sometimes."

Fred frowned. "How do _you_ have experience writing personal messages?"

"Well I don't, not directly. But I _read_ a lot of personal outgoing messages from _Infinity._ Raunchy ones, even. Not sure why people would choose to risk sending dirty messages over public Waypoint channels, but to each their own."

"It's not a dirty message," he muttered into the heel of his palm. "I'm just saying hello."

"To a mysterious ONI agent that _I_ don't even have the clearance to know about."

"Sounds like it's none of your business."

"You're blushing, Lieutenant, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. But if you say it's just a friend—" Roland shrugged, bowed low and blinked out of sight. "I'll leave you to your prosaic struggles in peace," he finished, his voice now a phantom sound that was far too loud in the empty mess.

Fred waited a full sixty seconds to make sure Roland wasn't going to reappear, then opened the laptop back up, deleting the entire message and clearing the laptop's log history. Nevermind. It had been a stupid idea anyway, on top of his already stupid decision to get up in the first place. He opened up the half-finished reports John had been doing of Blue Team's assignments instead. Normally they were done by now, but deploying every twenty-four hours made paperwork difficult to stay on top of. The least he could do while he was awake was something halfway productive. Lopis was probably too busy with the Ferrets anyway, and no news from them usually meant good news.

The ache in his chest was still there while he worked on the backlog of paperwork, though, and it was still there when he began to doze off.

* * *

His hand found the shut-off for his watch's alarm a few seconds before it went off. Grey ceiling registered above him in the low light of his cabin, accompanied by a subtle throb across his forehead. Right. Time for coffee.

Lasky found his uniform in the dark, flicking a lamp on as he stepped into his trousers and buttoned up his coat. Roland stayed quiet, and he relished the few moments of silence he was afforded each morning. They had a strict agreement; barring a ship-wide catastrophe, there were to be no reports until he made it into the officer's mess. Finding Roland's holostand dark in the corner of the room, he combed his hair neatly and finished his pre-dawn routine in peace.

He stepped out of his quarters at 0455 hours and walked the quiet halls. The night crew would be turning over soon, but any officer wanting to sneak off early knew his route well enough to avoid any potential contact points. Tom didn't mind; if it gave him a few extra minutes of mindless quiet, he'd let them all slink around in the auxiliary corridors.

He reached the access point for the tram just as its cabin door opened up. Palmer stepped into the hallway and fell silently into stride with him, meeting his eyes with a small smile. They were both heading to the same place, and they were far past the need for forced niceties. She did reach over and squeeze his fingers in greeting, though, and in the privacy of the lonely hallway, he squeezed back. She said nothing, enjoying the morning silence as much he did. Either of them having the spare time to spend the night together was an aching rarity, but walking the path to the mess with her was still the best thing about his mornings.

They arrived through the aft door of the mess at exactly 0503. Palmer made a beeline for the coffee pot and cleaned out the cold remains settled in the bottom; Lasky went to the steel storage cupboards to pull out a frying pan and breakfast rations. Imitation bacon and eggs weren't much compared to the real thing, but Sarah insisted he could cook them into a decent enough mimic that if she closed her eyes, she could pretend it was an authentic breakfast.

He smiled to himself as he heated up a bit of fatty oil in the pan over the heat element. It slowly began to sizzle in quiet harmony with the percolation of a fresh pot of coffee. It felt almost domestic, or at least what he figured passed for domestic on a warship with two high-ranking UNSC officers preparing food just a grade above MREs. His gauge for normality was a bit tilted, but he would take his victories where he could get them.

A soft rumble from the corner of the mess broke through his fantasy. Both of them looked up and turned towards the sound; apparently Palmer had been similarly wrapped up in the peace of their routine, and hadn't noticed the Spartan lieutenant seated at a table on the other side of the mess. His forearms were folded over themselves on the table, his head resting on top of them. The screen of the open laptop in front of him cast a soft glow over the man's pale skin, and his eyes were hidden from its glare in the black forearm of his Spartan uniform. Lasky watched Fred for a moment before another soft rumble came from him—a snore.

He exchanged a smile with Sarah, who raised a brow. "Guess he beat us here," she said, breaking their silence.

Tom took her cue and looked back at Fred. "Strange he's up here, though. I don't think I've ever seen a Spartan besides you in this mess."

Palmer shrugged. "Maybe he wants some peace and quiet, too."

Noticing they were talking now and not wanting to waste a moment, Roland appeared on top of the steel island by the stove. "Morning, Captain, Commander."

"Roland," they replied almost in unison, and the AI smiled.

"Ready for the daily damage reports, sir?"

Lasky tossed the rations into the pan, the oil now spitting. "Do your worst."

To his credit, Roland did his damndest to fulfill that. Numerous requests for transfers from an assortment of junior staff, updates on Covenant fringe activity, orders from Navy brass for progress reports on Spartan engagements—that one was on Sarah, at least—and worst of all, a new message from Osman. It was marked low priority, but a message from Osman was never really "low priority". He did his best to tamp down the wave of nausea that last update hit him with. He wanted to at least enjoy his breakfast with Palmer before being lambasted by CINCONI, dammit.

"You've got a fun day ahead of you," Sarah said as she handed him plates to dish the food out onto. He took a sip of the coffee she'd made him—one sugar, one milk—and allowed himself to heave a sigh.

"I live to serve," he muttered, following her over to a table. The lieutenant was still asleep, so they gave him space and found a spot near the kitchenette.

"How long's he been here, Roland?" Lasky asked, looking over his shoulder and doing his best to speak quietly. Sarah sat down opposite him, digging into her hot-cooked meal.

"About ninety minutes, sir. Doing paperwork—and sleeping."

That surprised him, though he didn't know why. Blue Team was a highly unique unit among the Spartan complement aboard _Infinity_ , to be sure, but all fireteams were responsible for filing their own mission reports—even Spartan-IIs.

As if realising he was the subject of investigation, Fred's head rose up from his forearms. He'd been napping long enough that a pink pressure mark appeared across his forehead, and there was a small, small moment where his features were drowsy and unfocused. Tom felt like he was viewing something intensely private, but then it was gone as the Spartan's gaze sharpened and he registered where he was. He winced, rubbing at his neck, and stretched his long arms out in front of him.

"Morning, Lieutenant," Palmer said across the mess, and his eyes flicked to them. His lips twitched ever so slightly in amusement.

"Morning ma'am. Morning, sir," he added, nodding to Lasky, who nodded back.

"Have a nice nap?"

"Not at all." He rolled his shoulders and stood up, squinting down at the laptop. "Couldn't sleep, so I came here to do some work." His fingers wrapped around the edge of the coffee mug beside the laptop, lifting it up to his mouth. His long nose scrunched up when he found it to be cold, making him frown in distaste.

"Paperwork's a good way to knock you right out," Lasky said, and the twitch of Fred's mouth turned into a full smile in reply. He did a careful scan around the room, then focused in on the coffee pot.

"Go for it," Palmer said, seeing him stare down the percolator. "Coffee's always better up here."

"That's why I'm up here, ma'am." He moved to the kitchenette and cleaned out his cup in the sink. Once again Tom found himself surprised to see a Spartan indulge in something so banal as caffeine—and even go so far as to put _sugar_ in their coffee—but as he'd told the Chief, they were just people, after all, and it was rather hypocritical of him to think differently now. He saw Sarah watching Fred too, so he supposed he wasn't the only one surprised.

The lieutenant looked over at them, fresh cup of coffee in hand, then flicked an eyebrow upwards when he found them staring.

"I eat too, you know," he said, smiling as he walked passed them. Lasky felt his face heat—apparently the lieutenant was used to fascinated stares. Sarah looked at him out of the side of her eye, laughing.

"Sorry," he said, watching Fred sit back down in his seat. "Just—strange to see you all when you're out of armour and at ease."

"So I've been told. Sir." He sipped at his coffee and frowned at the laptop screen. Saying no more to them, he got back to work, his fingers making quiet, measured _taps_ on the keyboard.

That was apparently the end of the conversation. At least the lieutenant was more talkative than Chief. Lasky decided to mind his own business and dug into his own plate of food instead. Palmer stole a few crispy edges of bacon from his plate and went straight back to idle banter. He'd been reluctant to begin speaking again, suddenly hyper-aware of the other Spartan in the mess, but forced silence would have probably just made the man feel more out of place. Sarah had figured all of that out already, but she'd had more direct contact with Blue Team than Lasky did. He followed her lead, carefully noting her tone and volume. Off-duty conversations with Spartan-IIs had always been monumentally awkward for him, so he would take every opportunity he could to learn how to make them feel more at ease.

They were just clearing away their dishes when another sound came from Fred's corner of the mess, this time the buzz of a comm. He answered it immediately, and it went to the audial implant in his ear.

"Chief," he said, then smiled at the response on the other end of the line. "Just doing your paperwork, sir." A short pause. "Aye. Be there in five." He closed his laptop and stood up, downing the contents of his mug in one long pull.

"John's awake, ma'am," Fred said, looking to Palmer. "He'll be wanting to suit up ASAP."

Sarah smiled as she ran her plate under the stream of tap water. "I'll be down in Spartan Town soon, Lieutenant. I recommend you eat something first before you gear up, though."

He nodded, tucking the laptop under his arm and striding towards the kitchenette in one graceful motion. He rinsed out his cup and dried it before Lasky had the reflex to register it was happening, then grabbed a granola bar from the cupboard and shoved half of it into his mouth as he headed towards S-Deck. It had taken Fred a cool twelve seconds to clear out of the mess since getting that call. Tom frowned down at the plate he was still rinsing off, then shook his head.

"They'll be back from their mission wanting to debrief before you make it to S-Deck at the rate they move," Tom mused, and Palmer smiled.

"They got more muster than a lot of the slack-jaws I have yet to whip into shape, and they make the others move faster." She placed a quick kiss on his cheek and danced away from him, just as quiet and graceful. "Later, Captain."

"'Til later," he responded, barely getting the words out before Palmer was out of the mess and the door was closing shut, leaving him alone with his dirty plate in the mess. At least he'd gotten his breakfast with Sarah, and his cheek tingled all the way to the bridge from her kiss. All in all a good morning, if a bit strange. _Now to face reality._


End file.
